Spuds
by Quinzelade
Summary: In the aftermath of a fierce battle, Quinn and Danse discover something small. Something precious. Something with sharp, deadly...okay, fine. It's a deathclaw.
1. Spuds

_I wrote this drabble when I was feeling sad this week. Someone on tumblr sent me the prompt of 'adopt a baby deathclaw', so I thought I'd give it a go. My followers seemed to like it, so I thought...why not post it here and see what you guys all think?_

 _Just a light-hearted bit of fun, with no real connection to the main plot of By No Constraint._

 _I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 **Spuds**

"Quinn."

"What?"

 _"_ _Quinn."_

 _"_ _What?"_

"Put the deathclaw _down."_

Quinn stared at the paladin while the small, leathery creature squirmed in her arms, a weak growl gargling in its throat. Grinning at Danse, she tickled the lizard-like monstrosity under its chin, and then yelped when it bit her finger. Danse stepped forward, gun raised, eyes wide with alarm, but stopped when Quinn waved him away.

"It's fine. You're just a lil' bit excited, aren't you, boy? _Aren't you?"_ She scratched the top of the deathclaw hatchling's head, keeping her hand out of biting range this time.

"Have you gone crazy?" Danse asked incredulously.

"Probably."

To be fair to the paladin, this was bat-shit insane, even by her standards. But in _Quinn's_ defence, she hadn't intended on adopting a tiny reptilian nightmare when she had woke up that morning either. Yet here she was, making cooing noises at the mutated horror cradled in her arms.

It continued to wriggle in her grip, snapping its surprisingly powerful jaws at her fingers, glittering black eyes watching her every movement. Strange, that such a young animal could hold a keen awareness of its surroundings. Then again, it was destined to be an apex predator.

The body of its mother lay a few feet away, a fresh pool of blood spreading out around its massive, scaly form. Quinn shivered – that fight had been a close one; the aches in her body confirmed the ferocity of the predatory mother. And when the gunfire had settled, and the urge to piss her pants in fear had gone away, the harrowing cries from the depths of a pile of leaves had drawn Quinn in.

She'd nearly lost her hand clearing away the covers of the nest, the little hatchling inside taking a frantic swipe as its first glimpse of sunlight had burned down upon it. Croaking and mewling, it had pulled itself clumsily out of its home and dragged itself in the direction of its mother, sniffing the floor. Its claws, a symbol of terror all across the wasteland, were soft and malleable, bending as they pressed against the hard, dusty earth. So Quinn had done what any sensible individual would do.

She had picked the deathclaw up.

"Put. It. _Down,"_ Danse hissed, eyeing it with great unease. "It's already bitten you once, soldier. The risk of a repeat incident increases with every passing-"

The deathclaw nipped her again. Quinn swore, almost dropping it. When she looked up, Danse was wearing the most infuriating _'I told you so'_ look that had ever graced the human race. Glaring at him, Quinn clung tighter to the new object of her affections. It rewarded her by nibbling on her ear, gently.

Danse frowned at this. So did Quinn. Had she really expected the deathclaw to _not_ try to eat her? It made a small rumbling noise from the back of its throat and butted its head against the side of hers. The small horns on its forehead dug uncomfortably into her cheek, but Quinn held on anyway, shooting Danse a shit-eating grin.

"We're keeping him." It was a statement, not a request, and Danse knew it.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for the words as his colour slowly worked its way through various shades of red. Then Danse slumped his shoulders and sighed. "Fine. If you want to do something as stupid as this, on your own head be it."

"What are we going to call him?"

"What?"

"What are we going to call him?" Quinn repeated impatiently. "If he's gonna be my pet, he's got to have a name."

Danse shook his head in disbelief, but then paused, his brow furrowing. "What about Valiance? Or-"

"Spuds."

"You are _not_ naming the deathclaw Spuds."

"I thought you wanted to get rid of him?" Quinn said sweetly, rocking Spuds from side to side as she batted her eyelashes.

"I don't! I just – but – it doesn't..." Danse spluttered, turning scarlet as his voice awkwardly trailed away.

He glanced from Quinn, to the deathclaw, and back to her again, and in that moment Quinn knew she had won. Danse turned on his heel and stomped away, muttering to himself.

"Welcome to the family, Spuds," she said, just loud enough for Danse to hear her.

Spuds bit her on the nose.


	2. Teething

**Teething**

"Is it supposed to be that big?"

"Eheheh…"

"Shut up, _ghoul,"_ Danse snapped, scowling at Hancock while he fumbled his way through a packet of mentats.

"Oooh, shaking in my boots, _tin can,"_ Hancock retorted, pulling at the packaging of his chems so hard they went scattering everywhere.

"Cut it out, both of you," Quinn said, rolling her eyes while Hancock grumbled and crouched down to pick up his mentats. "And Danse, it's a _deathclaw._ Did you expect it to stay tiny forever?"

"Well, no," Danse said with a sheepish shrug. "But...it's growing _fast_ don't you think?"

He turned his attention back to Spuds, who was now prowling around its makeshift pit, eyeing up the nearby settlers hungrily. In the weeks since they had rescued it, it had grown to roughly the size of a large brahmin, with an equally large appetite. They'd gone through enough meat to feed the entire settlement for a month.

"He's perfect just the way he is," Quinn said fondly.

Spuds sniffed the ground, flexing its claws against the dirt in a way that made Danse shiver, and then began to edge towards the side of the pit. It threw glances at Quinn every so often while she bickered with Hancock about the recent string of practical jokes involving his detached toe.

"It's disgusting, Hancock."

"It's _hilarious."_

"Why don't you just—"

"Quinn," said Danse, as Spuds began to curl its claws over the edge of the pit.

"—put it back on? There's some radiation hot spots nearby that you could use for the fusion."

"Because taking it off again would _hurt."_

"Quinn," Danse repeated, louder this time as Spuds dug its feet into the wall and began to pull itself up.

"You aren't supposed to be taking it off in the first place! It's an appendage, Hancock, not a toy!"

 _"Quinn!"_

Quinn turned around just in time to see Spuds reach out one giant hand towards Mama Murphy.

"Spuds!" she shrieked, and the deathclaw flinched, losing its footing and crashing back into its pit with an earth-shaking thud. But it couldn't escape the wrath of Quinn, who leapt down after it, brandishing a battered spray bottle as she gave it the scolding of a lifetime.

"Bad Spuds! _Bad!"_ She squirted the deathclaw, and it made a noise like a frightened puppy, only several octaves lower. It tried to scramble away from her, but Quinn held up the bottle, and it froze, eyeing her nervously.

The first time Quinn had produced the spray bottle—a day after they had adopted Spuds—Danse had scoffed at the idea. _Train_ a deathclaw? It was damn impossible. They were wild animals, not scaly house pets. He predicted within a week the thing would attack a settler and it would be put down. But Quinn would not be deterred, even after the argument it had caused, and so he had left her to it, consequences be damned.

To Danse's greatest irritation, the deathclaw had not tried to eat everything in sight. Not only that, but after the spray bottle had been used a couple of times, it seemed to develop a respectful fear of the stupid device, as well as its wielder.

Watching Quinn chase a monster twice her size across a death pit armed with nothing but a glorified squirt gun now, though, Danse couldn't blame Spuds for its obedience. He was just annoyed Quinn had been right.

Finally, after emptying almost half her spray bottle on the now cowering deathclaw, Quinn lowered it, strode over to Spuds, and crouched down, laying a hand on top of its quivering head. It twitched and glanced up, its tongue flicking in and out, hesitantly.

"You can't eat people," she said scratching the top of its head.

Why Quinn talked to the thing, Danse didn't know. It wasn't capable of understanding. And yet as she scratched her pet, it butted its head against her affectionately, almost knocking her over.

Quinn looked up at Danse and grinned, now using both hands to rub its neck. Danse scowled at the two of them.

He hated that she'd been right.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hadn't originally planned to expand on this, but I got an idea a few months ago, and my stress levels from work have gotten so high, writing about Quinn and her stupid deathclaw is a nice escape.

Plus I feel bad for not updating BNC.

Hope you enjoyed.


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